


Side by Side

by linndechir



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Renegade Shepard (Mass Effect), Trapped
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-08-14 10:49:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20191051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linndechir/pseuds/linndechir
Summary: Trapped under debris with Shepard after an explosion, Garrus has a lot of time to think. But there's a war raging and the burden on Shepard's shoulders is already heavy enough, and Garrus doesn't want to give him yet another thing to worry about.





	Side by Side

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anarchycox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/gifts).

“Well, this could have gone better,” Garrus said once they didn’t seem to be in immediate danger of getting crushed by falling rocks anymore.

It probably said a lot about their lives that being buried under a pile of debris wasn’t even remotely the worst thing that had happened to them in the past couple of years, compared to suicide missions, fighting Reapers, or that time Shepard had literally died on him. It still wasn’t exactly pleasant – the dust was taking time to settle and it was hard to see anything in the meantime, the planet was a few degrees colder than Garrus thought was strictly necessary, and it didn’t look like they’d be getting out of here any time soon. 

The mission had been going well up to then – they’d infiltrated a Cerberus base, and everything had gone off without a hitch until they’d cleaned out the last room and some poor indoctrinated bastard had set off a giant explosives charge. Vega was fine – they’d heard him call for them before their comms had cut out, he’d been just outside the blast radius – and the structure was stable enough that it didn’t look like they were going to get crushed or suffocate any time soon, at least not after Shepard had levitated a few blocks of rock around under Garrus’s directions to stabilise the little cavern. So really, they were only cold, dirty and bored until Vega contacted the Normandy and the ship’s engineers found a way to get them out. Oh, and Shepard was in a foul mood because when was he not these days, exhaustion wearing his nerves thin, his already short temper even more hair-trigger than usual. At least Garrus’s comment got a chuckle out of him.

“Yeah, that wasn’t in the mission brief. With our luck we’ll probably have a thresher maw coming out of the ground in a minute.”

Garrus shook his head, because that just felt like tempting fate. He watched as Shepard checked his omnitool, probably scanning the air around them before he took off his helmet. Garrus followed suit, then sat down on a nearby fallen pillar. Shepard was looking up at the, for lack of a better word, ceiling, his mind restless as ever – he’d never met a problem he didn’t try to bulldoze his way through. Garrus had always admired that about him – his refusal to give up, to accept the word no, to take the world as it was instead of punching or glaring it into submission – but right now, there really wasn’t any point to it. 

“I’m pretty sure you’re going to get us crushed if you start messing with the rocks again, Shepard,” he called over. As much respect as he had for Shepard’s biotics, they were very combat-focused and not exactly suited for moving around large amounts of debris. Garrus quite liked not getting crushed by rocks. “Come on, sit down. It’ll be hours before they can get us out of here.”

Shepard muttered something under his breath, but he listened. And Garrus wasn’t unaware of how rare a thing that was, Shepard listening to anyone who wasn’t his direct superior (and even then he only listened half the time). He couldn’t quite remember when it had become like this – not just him looking up to Shepard, trying to learn from him, following his example, but Shepard’s gaze seeking his when he hesitated, Shepard leaning on him when things got too much for any man to bear alone. It was humbling in a way, but Garrus supposed it only made sense. They understood each other, in a way Garrus didn’t feel anyone else had ever understood him. Maybe Shepard felt the same way. That things were always easier as long as they were side by side. When the Reapers had attacked Palaven, more than anything he’d wished that Shepard had been there with him. Rationally he knew that it wouldn’t have changed anything – Shepard couldn’t have protected Palaven single-handedly any more than he he could Earth – but Garrus still would have felt less hopeless for it.

Shepard sat down beside him, on a slightly smaller rock. Between that and their height difference his head ended up level with Garrus’s shoulder, and he was close enough that their armours bumped together. Shepard didn’t back off, but stayed right where he was, and after a moment he suddenly leant against him, his head lolling back against Garrus’s shoulder.

“You all right there? Didn’t hit your head falling?” Garrus asked, keeping his voice dry, but he couldn’t quite hide his concern. Shepard was always straight-backed and tense, even aboard the Normandy, even in his time off, unless he had enough alcohol in his system to overtax his synthetics. He wasn’t usually so … tactile. 

“I’m fine,” Shepard said, and sounded like he meant it rather than like he just wanted Garrus to stop asking. “Just doing what you told me, right? Might as well sit down if all we can do is wait.”

“Yeah,” Garrus said lamely, still not sure what to make of this. He’d spent enough time around humans, and all C-Sec officers were required to take classes on other species’ social behaviour, but he still didn’t always get them. Certainly didn’t get all the nuances of their body language. He could read their smiles these days – the only reason they didn’t look aggressive to him was because those little blunt teeth were so harmless – but the nuances of which amounts of hugging or kissing or touching were acceptable in which human relationship escaped him. And Shepard seemed very distant for a human, even with others of his species. Garrus had rarely seen him do more than briefly touch someone’s shoulder in what was apparently a friendly gesture of support.

Now he was so close that Garrus only had to incline his head a little for his mandible to brush against the soft hair on Shepard’s head. Everything about humans was so _soft_, as unfitting as that word was for Shepard otherwise. It made him want to run his talons over that short hair, see it move under his touch, see if Shepard would like that. And he smelt good, too. Garrus had never thought that humans smelt good until Shepard, but something about him – especially when he’d worked up a sweat – was almost dizzying to Garrus. Made him want to press his face against the back of Shepard’s neck and breathe him in. Made him want to rub himself against Shepard until he smelt of both of them, mark him as his so anyone else would know to back off. That was definitely not something humans did, as far as he knew. Apparently their sense of smell was atrocious.

He couldn’t quite remember when this had happened either. He’d never had a … a thing for humans, or really for any other species. It just seemed awkward, and Garrus already found flirting with other turians awkward half the time. Having to figure out another species’ anatomy and mating rituals and preferences seemed like far more of a hassle than the exotic experience could really be worth. And he hadn’t wanted Shepard either, early on. Admired him, respected him, liked him very quickly. But this … this had sneaked up on him. The thought that Shepard had nice eyes. That he wanted to touch Shepard’s hair. That he wondered where exactly else on his body he _had_ hair – apparently not all humans were equally hairy. He’d even watched some porn, just out of curiosity if humans more or less functioned the same way as turians in bed, and while he hadn’t really been into anything he’d seen, it still hadn’t made him want to try those things with Shepard any less. 

His mandible twitched against Shepard’s temple, and after a moment he shifted to put an arm around his shoulders. It was more comfortable that way, and the cold was starting to get to him. Shepard didn’t seem to mind, but shifted closer, his body a warm and solid presence against Garrus’s side. His eyes were half-closed. Spirits, he looked tired. Garrus was surprised that he could even tell because Shepard always looked tired, but right now he looked utterly exhausted. Weight of the galaxy on his shoulders and all that, and he was pretty sure that Shepard slept less than humans should. He wanted to – and that was the other thing, really. He didn’t just want to take Shepard to bed, have some awkward interspecies sex they could laugh about afterwards, and then move on with his life. No, he wanted to be there for him, he wanted to hold him when he couldn’t sleep, as if there was any way Shepard would ever be comfortable lying in his arms. If Garrus thought humans were squishy, then Shepard probably thought Garrus was far too pointy and hard to be attractive.

The silence between them was comfortable – it always had been, as comfortable as their banter – but it gave Garrus too much time to think. About all the things he wanted, all the things he couldn’t have. And even if he could some day, maybe, now was not the time nor the place. Not simply because they were trapped and waiting for rescue, but because of the war, because of both their home planets burning. Shepard carried a burden that most men would have broken under, and the last thing he needed was Garrus adding to that. Shepard always made other people’s problems his own, went out of his way to help those he was close to. If he’d known how Garrus felt … he would have been as gentle about it as he knew how to, and it would have weighed on him, to have to reject him, to have to explain that they could only ever be friends. He didn’t need that right now. Didn’t need that ever, really, but certainly not when the fate of the galaxy depended on Shepard being at his best.

So Garrus enjoyed what he could have in this moment – the light pressure of Shepard’s body against his side, the smell of him, the odd sensation of his hair – and when he spoke, he didn’t say anything Shepard didn’t need to hear right now. He talked about his family, about the antics he and his sister used to get up to, and how exasperated their father had been by them at times. He talked about Palaven, and what it had been like before the Reapers came. He and Shepard used to talk about going together some day, so Garrus could show him where he’d grown up, but they’d never had the time. It had always been “some day”. Now that day might never come. Soon there might not be anything left of Palaven to visit. And when Garrus’s voice faltered at the thought, he felt Shepard stir against him, and then he started talking – not about Earth, but about the stations and the ships he’d grown up on, and the countless moons and planets he’d seen during his training. He’d never been the gentlest of people, or the most empathetic one, but he knew Garrus like he knew himself, and of course he wasn’t going to let him wallow in fears and concerns.

No, it was better if Shepard didn’t know what was on Garrus’s mind, yet another thing he’d have to concern himself with. Maybe when all this was over … maybe. Until then, Garrus was good right where he was, by Shepard’s side.

* * *

So Garrus kept his thoughts to himself and didn’t say a word. Not that day, when they were finally pulled out of the rubble and Vega joked about their lovers’ nest when he found them huddling close against the cold. Not the next time they teased each other over the comms during a fight until Alenko asked them if they couldn’t finally get a room – and Garrus laughed about it just like Shepard did, like that was all it was, a silly joke their companions made. 

He didn’t say anything that day on top of the Citadel Presidium, shooting bottles and drinking and seeing Shepard smile and relax for the first time in what felt like an eternity, not even when Shepard _looked_ at him and for a moment Garrus thought he’d do … something, anything. Wishful thinking, certainly, and he made Shepard laugh with a joke about marriage that stung more than he’d ever care to admit. Not that turians married in the same way humans did.

And he certainly didn’t say anything the night after the fall of Thessia, when Shepard looked like something had broken inside him, when he looked for the first time like he didn’t know anymore how to get up after this. It hadn’t been his fault, but what did it matter whose fault it was when they were losing, when the galaxy was falling apart around them and nothing they did seemed to put a dent in the Reapers’ strength? Garrus went to see him that evening with enough booze to make both of them pass out, and they sat in Shepard’s cabin and drank in miserable silence while staring at the fish in that ridiculously large tank Cerberus had built into the galaxy’s most advanced warship. Shepard seemed to find them soothing, but that night his gaze was entirely blank, and then it got glassy, and eventually he simply fell asleep next to Garrus. Shoulder against shoulder, again with Garrus’s arm around him although Garrus later couldn’t quite remember when that had happened. He only considered leaving Shepard there for the briefest moment before he decided to stay, to make sure that Shepard actually slept for once. Garrus himself felt wide awake no matter how drunk he got, and the least he could do was to watch over Shepard.

It wasn’t even an hour before Shepard started shifting in his sleep, lips moving in unspoken words, his fingers twitching. Even in his sleep he didn’t seem to relax, seemed to be haunted by the horrors they’d all seen and which were nothing compared to the horrors yet to come if they failed. Garrus wondered if it was Thessia he was dreaming about, or Earth, or maybe something older than that – choking in the cold emptiness of space, feeling every second of his own death. He knew how much Shepard hated space walks these days – not because Shepard had ever said a word, or because he was any less focused during them than before, but because Garrus could see the tension in him when he came back, the clenching of his jaw, the increasingly dark circles under his eyes in the following days. 

“Hey,” he mumbled so quietly that he wasn’t even sure Shepard would hear him. He pulled him closer and hoped it would provide some comfort, even with how unfamiliar his body had to feel against Shepard’s, and after a moment’s hesitation he gently stroked Shepard’s head, felt the short hair bristle under his talons. He wanted to tell him some reassuring nonsense, that everything was going to be all right, but he couldn’t make himself say it. Shepard had done the impossible time and time again, and if anyone could pull this off, it was him, but in that moment … in that moment it felt too much like a lie neither of them needed to hear. But Shepard quieted down a little under his touch, his breath evening out, the nervous twitching of his fingers stopping, and in his sleep he shifted closer to Garrus. It looked uncomfortable as hell, but Garrus didn’t dare dislodge him for fear of waking him up after all. Shepard needed his rest, and Garrus was only glad he could provide him with some comfort.

And if his heart ached a little when he watched Shepard sleep, or many hours later, when Shepard only woke up for long enough to tell Garrus to take the couch before he went to collapse on his bed, and Garrus fell asleep with his face pressed into a pillow that smelt like Shepard, well, that was a small price to pay to be there for him. 

* * *

By the time they were getting ready for the final battle on Earth, they had something like hope again. Although hope was probably too big a word – it was more that Shepard had found his dogged determination again, that iron will Garrus had always admired so much. The odds weren’t _good_, but they had a fighting chance, and that was all Shepard had ever needed. And if it was good enough for Shepard, it was good enough for Garrus.

Shepard had grown more distant again since Thessia. They still spoke, of course – and Garrus doubted anyone else saw the cracks in his façade, the fear and the doubts, the way he was slowly falling apart and only kept himself together through sheer will power – but they barely ever touched again. It was like before, and yet it felt … odd. Inconsequential, of course, compared to the fate of the galaxy, but Garrus still found he’d already started to miss it. Shepard’s hand brushing over his arm or his back. Shepard sitting too close to him on the rare occasions that he allowed himself to relax with his crew for an hour. If they were going to die – and Garrus had no illusions about the casualties the assault on Earth would demand – Garrus would have liked to spend more of his final weeks near the man he … cared for. Spirits, the man he loved, as if there was any doubt left about that in his mind. But if Shepard needed to be alone, the last thing Garrus would do was push him. Maybe Shepard had noticed that something was off in the way Garrus looked at him; maybe he was trying to be kind by staying away.

And so he was surprised when Shepard called him up to his cabin, a few days before they’d rendezvous with the rest of the fleet to head to Earth. He found Shepard out of his uniform jacket, the shirt he wore underneath clinging to his body – the flat planes of his stomach, the strong muscles of his shoulders, his narrow waist. He looked good, Garrus couldn’t help but think, even if this was hardly the moment to think it. The aquarium cast an odd blue tint onto his face, made his skin seem even more pale than usual and the glow of the cybernetics breaking through his skin almost purplish.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to bring drinks again,” Garrus said by way of greeting. He couldn’t quite keep his eyes from flitting over to the couch. Sometimes he wondered if he should have done something that night – worst possible time, maybe, but maybe, if Shepard was even a little interested it would have taken his mind off things. Garrus knew that sex as a distraction in emotionally difficult situations was something humans indulged in as much as turians. And sure, it wasn’t what Garrus wanted – or not all Garrus wanted – but for Shepard’s sake … 

“No.” Shepard was still not looking at him. “Although, if there was ever a time to develop a drinking problem without long-term consequences, it’d be now.”

Garrus chuckled and stopped by his side, not quite close enough to touch, but it was a near thing. He wondered how many more moments like this they’d have. If they’d still be alive in a week. If he’d get to stay with Shepard even if they were.

“I’ve been thinking,” Shepard said, his eyes still following the fish in the tank. 

“Now I’m scared. Tell me it’s not about a way to salvage your pride after losing our shooting contest.”

This time Shepard laughed, shifted to bump his shoulder into Garrus’s. A friendly gesture, Garrus knew, but without his body armour on, it sent heat tingling through his body. When had it become this hard to stop himself from thinking about Shepard this way? Maybe it was just the feeling of urgency, the lingering knowledge that “some day” might never come for them. That he’d waited too long and soon they’d be out of time.

“My pride will be just fine if we defeat the Reapers. And if not, my pride will be the least of our problems.”

“If?” Garrus asked.

“I should say ‘when’, hm?” Shepard sighed. “You know as well as I do that the battle isn’t won until it’s over. We’ll never get a better opportunity.”

“I can hear a ‘but’,” Garrus said gently. Shepard was quiet for a little while, as if he hadn’t heard. His voice sounded distant when he finally replied.

“I have a feeling I’m not going to make it out of there alive. I mean, what the hell do I know, not like I can see into the future, but … we’re going to be in the thick of it. More of us are going to die than survive.”

Garrus wanted to argue with him, but he knew how much Shepard hated platitudes. He had to tell them to other people all the time, he didn’t need to hear them himself. Instead Garrus just nodded.

“You asked me, back on the Citadel, if there was something I wanted to do before I die.” Shepard finally turned his head, looked at him. The red gleam of his eyes in the half dark, nested in that bright blue Garrus still remembered from when they had first met. He liked the way Shepard’s eyes looked these days. It suited him somehow, like he was more than human. And the look he gave Garrus now made his breath catch.

“There is,” Shepard went on. “Has been for a long time. Just didn’t know how to ask for it without making things … weird.”

“You’re usually not exactly shy,” Garrus said. He kept his tone light, because whatever this was about, it wasn’t what he thought. Couldn’t be, because there was no way Shepard had been yearning for him the same way. 

“Felt selfish, bringing it up at a time like this.”

“It’s not selfish to think about what you want for once, rather than what the galaxy wants from you.”

“Yeah, but the galaxy seemed a little bit more important.”

“Maybe in the grand scheme of things,” Garrus said. If he’d been thinking clearly, if he hadn’t been so distracted by that roughness in Shepard’s voice, by that look in his eyes that spoke of so much longing that he simply had to misunderstand it, then he wouldn’t have added, “Not to me. Whatever you want to ask for, it’s yours.”

Shepard smiled then, just that little twitch at the corner of his mouth that Garrus knew by now meant he was trying _not_ to smile.

“That feels like a dangerous thing to offer.” His voice had dropped a little, low and rough and … seductive almost.

“That’s us, no? Always jumping right into danger.” Garrus wanted to reach out for him, touch his hair again, stroke his talons over that soft spot at the base of his skull. 

“Not with this.” But Shepard didn’t hesitate once he’d made up his mind, whatever it was he’d set his mind to this time. He raised his hand to the side of Garrus’s neck – the scarred side, he couldn’t help but notice –, his fingers a warm pressure coaxing Garrus into bending his neck a little. When he did, Shepard stepped closer, and Garrus’s breath caught when Shepard pressed his forehead against his. Not a brief bump the way good friends or siblings might share it, no, but a lingering touch that made warmth roll through Garrus’s entire body. He wondered if Shepard knew what that meant among turians, if he knew just what exactly he was telling him right now, but he couldn’t make himself move away. Felt almost wrong to savour the intimacy of it so much when he couldn’t be sure how Shepard meant it, and yet … Shepard’s other hand moved to his waist, kept him close.

“I know you don’t … You’re not into humans, I know that,” Shepard said, and Garrus would have objected very quickly that he was, very much so, into Shepard, but he was too floored by the revelation that he was apparently not misunderstanding where this was going. “But if we die in a few days … or worse, if one of us dies … fuck, I didn’t want to die without asking at least. Just once, Garrus.”

Garrus touched him then, put both hands on Shepard’s waist, felt the warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, felt the ripple that went through his muscles at his touch. He wanted him so badly he could almost feel himself unplate already, and that usually took at least a little bit of foreplay. He wanted him, and he still wasn’t quite sure how to have him without hurting him, without scratching that soft skin, bruising his unprotected flesh. And it wasn’t that Shepard couldn’t take that, of course not, but the last thing Garrus ever wanted was to cause him more pain.

“Just once, huh?” he asked. An hour ago he would have thought he’d jump at the chance, for just one memory of being with him. Now the idea seared him in ways he couldn’t put into words. “I can’t do that, Shepard.”

“Oh,” Shepard just said. Always so damn collected, even as his face fell and he blinked too quickly, and it took Garrus a second to realise just how that had sounded. He tightened his grip on Shepard’s waist to stop him from pulling away.

“No, I meant I can’t do this once and then let you go.” He hoped it wasn’t too much, that he wasn’t pushing too hard – but then he saw the relief in Shepard’s eyes, felt him relax under his hands. 

“Oh,” he said again, but this time it was followed by a dry chuckle. “Really, Garrus, was that necessary?”

“Consider it punishment for not saying anything for – how long exactly?” He bumped his forehead a bit harder against Shepard’s – teasing, and Shepard seemed to get it, because he smiled and pressed back into his touch. 

“Way too long. Thought you weren’t into humans.”

Garrus pushed him back a little, walking him towards the bed, and shuddered slightly when Shepard simply complied. He almost felt pliant under his hands, and that was not a word he ever thought he’d associate with Shepard of all people. Stubborn, determined, uncompromising Shepard, moving just how Garrus wanted him to.

“You’re not just any human,” Garrus said. “I thought you weren’t into turians.”

Shepard laughed at that. He brushed his thumb over Garrus’s waist like he knew he’d be sensitive there, moved his other hand up to the softer, unplated skin just below his fringe. Garrus let out a quiet hiss when Shepard’s fingers massaged him there – it felt so different from a turian’s talons, but in a thrilling way, and still sent the same prickle of excitement down his spine.

“Then you just weren’t paying attention.”

He turned his head just so and pressed his lips against Garrus’s mandible – a kiss, Garrus realised belatedly, apparently an integral part of human sexuality. He had never quite seen the appeal before, but now he understood – the softness of Shepard’s lips and how it contrasted with the roughness of his stubble, that firm and yet gentle pressure when he kissed Garrus’s mandible again, and then his cheek, and finally his mouth as if he didn’t care that Garrus couldn’t reciprocate the same way a human would. It felt sweet, and tender, even as it made Garrus wonder what Shepard’s lips would feel like on other parts of his body.

For a little while he simply enjoyed the sensation, but then he sneaked out his tongue, just the tip to lick over Shepard’s lips, not quite sure if that would be an adequate substitute for a human kiss until Shepard moaned eagerly and surged against him. His lips parted invitingly, and he moaned again when Garrus licked into his mouth, his longer tongue curling around Shepard’s, the way he would have with a turian. It felt strange, a little off in a way, and yet it only made him want Shepard more. Made him want to find out all the other ways in which they could fit together, all the ways they could meet halfway between what turians did and what humans did. And if it felt half as good as this, as Shepard’s tongue against his and Shepard’s fingers lightly scratching him below his fringe, then Garrus would have worried for nothing.

Afterwards, they lay together in Shepard’s bed, naked and sprawled out and more sated than Garrus could remember being in a long, long time. Finding a comfortable way to lie like this had turned out to be more complicated than finding a comfortable way to kiss, or for Garrus to fuck Shepard (long and slow and deep while Shepard came apart underneath him, more relaxed than Garrus had ever seen him before, clinging to him and always demanding more, his cock twitching even after Garrus’s tongue had made him come). Eventually they wedged a pillow between Garrus’s chest and Shepard’s head so the edges of his carapace wouldn’t scrape Shepard’s skin too badly, and that seemed to do the trick. Shepard’s fingers teased lightly over Garrus’s waist, he had one leg slung over Garrus’s – apparently the roughness seemed to bother him less there – and he made quiet, content sounds when Garrus kept stroking his hair. 

There were red marks on his skin, from Garrus’s talons mostly, but they were fading already, and Shepard had assured him they didn’t hurt. There was something exciting about that, too, being able to leave such a visible mark on him so easily. Curiously, Garrus scratched over Shepard’s arm, watched him shudder and twitch, watched the thin red line appear on his pale skin. He was going to have him again as soon as he could, and this time maybe he’d hold Shepard down, watch him struggle a little against Garrus’s grip, watch those red marks bloom and disappear on his skin. Judging by what else Shepard had liked so far, Garrus had no doubt he’d enjoy that.

“What are you purring about?” Shepard mumbled. He sounded – not quite sleepy, but worn out in a pleasant rather than that usual exhausted way.

“I’m not purring,” Garrus said, mostly because he wasn’t entirely sure what sound that word was supposed to describe. Maybe Shepard meant the quiet, low rumbling in his chest, and Garrus wondered if he knew that it was an expression of profound contentment. When Shepard made a non-committal noise into the pillow, Garrus went on, “I’m thinking about everything else I want to do to you. I had a _lot_ of time to come up with ideas. I’ve done, ah, research.”

Shepard groaned and laughed.

“Did Mordin give you brochures, too?” For a moment they were both still, but it was the first time since Mordin’s death that thinking about him didn’t seem to fill Shepard with more guilt than he could bear. The first time he’d even said his name, as far as Garrus could recall.

“Yeah. He said something about how we were both ‘displaying typical signs for our respective species of sexual interest in each other’. But I meant porn, actually.”

Shepard laughed again. Garrus loved how he could feel the vibrations in his chest under his talons and against his side. He tightened his arm around him to hold him closer still.

“Maybe we should have listened to him. I thought he was just taking the piss.”

“We probably should have.” Garrus cupped Shepard’s chin to make him look up, savoured the sharp intake of breath when he brushed one talon over Shepard’s lips. Apparently they were quite sensitive, too, on top of feeling so good against Garrus’s skin. “But since we didn’t, you know that means we both have to make it out of this alive. Because this? A few days until we reach Earth? This is not enough.”

“A hundred years wouldn’t be enough,” Shepard said quietly, his eyes intense in that way they usually got when something very important was at stake. Because it was, Garrus realised. “Don’t worry, Garrus. First time in years I feel like there’s something else in the galaxy except war. I don’t plan to waste that.”

And Garrus realised that when Shepard had said he didn’t expect to survive this war, he’d really meant that he didn’t know what else was left in his life. Fighting the Reapers had been the centre of his world for so long that he felt like he wouldn’t have known what to do with himself afterwards. And maybe now he did.

Garrus shifted until he could press his forehead against Shepard’s again, and the lingering way in which Shepard returned the gesture made it clear he knew exactly what he was doing. What he was saying to Garrus. After years of wanting, finally having something so unachievable felt almost too overwhelming.

Garrus would make damn sure they’d both survive, because he had every intention of getting used to this.


End file.
